Waiting, Waiting, Waiting on the World to Change
I like to think I'm a patient person.
Good things often come to those who wait. Prolonged anticipation of a reward deepens its satisfaction.
Yada yada yada.
Today, however, I began to realize that I am reaching the limit of what is considered an acceptable length of lines, both in the number of lines to be in as well as the number of people within each given line.
I queued up at nine this morning, waited two hours to renew my driver's licence and health insurance card (their online service was down), and witnessed a questionably long line. It looped in on itself, forming concentric circles after twenty minutes, much like a snail's shell and exhibiting the same sort of speed.
While there, I heard the usual anti-government rants that you'll hear near any office of governmental authority in a free country. The rants this time were about CERB. The Canadian emergency government benefit for those suffering income loss during an emergency (i.e. the coronavirus pandemic), acronymized to CERB, is a conversation starter, I'll tell you.
"It should not benefit those who worked five minutes in the same way that it benefits those who have worked for five decades."
"How did they come across $2000 as the magic number for a basic living income." (I learned that this amount is somehow both too much and too little.)
"A basic living income should be granted to all dependents all the time, rather than simply in times of emergency."
And so on.
I took no part in these discussions and read about eighty pages of my book while waiting. Although my time was productive, at least in the literary sense, I did feel sorry for a few of my fellow citizens as they wandered in behind me (or, considering the circular formation we established, in front of me, and then beside me). One elderly lady limped in on crutches. Another man and his wife walked in after driving nearly two hours, gazed at the queue wide-eyed and baffled at where it ended and began, and then left immediately to drive another two hours home after I told him that I was, in fact, near the front after looping the building twice. And honestly, I cannot blame him.
I hate needing food, hoping for a robotic existence so I can avoid the grocery store and its agonizing lines.
The theme parks studded with roller-coaster rides that I once adored? Don't even think about it. Those places already had lines. It boggles the mind what it may look like now.
As a supporter of libraries, the second they reopened I began using the physical collections again through curbside pickup. In essence, you pull up to a numbered spot on the curb, dial the extension on the sign, and they bring your items to your vehicle. I waited 13 minutes on hold for a 45-second conversation. It was another ten minutes before I received my library items. Granted, all of this time I was on my ass in my car with the air conditioning blasting my unmasked face, so it was far less annoying conditions to face and thus a much easier wait.
But now that I've started calculating, I can see my time on earth trickling away, ten minutes here and fifteen there, until we're all high-risk eighty years old and, frankly, we cannot wait one second longer.
Waiting makes me morbid now.
So it turns out, we all need to rant now and then. For some, it's about their government benefits. But, for me, it is directly related to the time spent on my feet not of my own volition. And since I am now leaving the liquor store and waiting to buy my sin juice is no longer impeding my feet, this rant is now over, especially considering I wrote the entirety of it while waiting in a queue.
We can now recommence living in three… two...
Good things often come to those who wait. Prolonged anticipation of a reward deepens its satisfaction.
Yada yada yada.
Today, however, I began to realize that I am reaching the limit of what is considered an acceptable length of lines, both in the number of lines to be in as well as the number of people within each given line.
I queued up at nine this morning, waited two hours to renew my driver's licence and health insurance card (their online service was down), and witnessed a questionably long line. It looped in on itself, forming concentric circles after twenty minutes, much like a snail's shell and exhibiting the same sort of speed.
While there, I heard the usual anti-government rants that you'll hear near any office of governmental authority in a free country. The rants this time were about CERB. The Canadian emergency government benefit for those suffering income loss during an emergency (i.e. the coronavirus pandemic), acronymized to CERB, is a conversation starter, I'll tell you.
"It should not benefit those who worked five minutes in the same way that it benefits those who have worked for five decades."
"How did they come across $2000 as the magic number for a basic living income." (I learned that this amount is somehow both too much and too little.)
"A basic living income should be granted to all dependents all the time, rather than simply in times of emergency."
And so on.
I took no part in these discussions and read about eighty pages of my book while waiting. Although my time was productive, at least in the literary sense, I did feel sorry for a few of my fellow citizens as they wandered in behind me (or, considering the circular formation we established, in front of me, and then beside me). One elderly lady limped in on crutches. Another man and his wife walked in after driving nearly two hours, gazed at the queue wide-eyed and baffled at where it ended and began, and then left immediately to drive another two hours home after I told him that I was, in fact, near the front after looping the building twice. And honestly, I cannot blame him.
I hate needing food, hoping for a robotic existence so I can avoid the grocery store and its agonizing lines.
The theme parks studded with roller-coaster rides that I once adored? Don't even think about it. Those places already had lines. It boggles the mind what it may look like now.
As a supporter of libraries, the second they reopened I began using the physical collections again through curbside pickup. In essence, you pull up to a numbered spot on the curb, dial the extension on the sign, and they bring your items to your vehicle. I waited 13 minutes on hold for a 45-second conversation. It was another ten minutes before I received my library items. Granted, all of this time I was on my ass in my car with the air conditioning blasting my unmasked face, so it was far less annoying conditions to face and thus a much easier wait.
But now that I've started calculating, I can see my time on earth trickling away, ten minutes here and fifteen there, until we're all high-risk eighty years old and, frankly, we cannot wait one second longer.
Waiting makes me morbid now.
So it turns out, we all need to rant now and then. For some, it's about their government benefits. But, for me, it is directly related to the time spent on my feet not of my own volition. And since I am now leaving the liquor store and waiting to buy my sin juice is no longer impeding my feet, this rant is now over, especially considering I wrote the entirety of it while waiting in a queue.
We can now recommence living in three… two...
No comments have been added yet.
